


A Place To Come Back

by Elviella



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Community: fma_ladyfest, Gen, Minor Canonical Character(s), ladies being awesome, ladies being friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elviella/pseuds/Elviella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not just the military that has work to do after the Promised Day. Central City adjustments: Vanessa comes back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place To Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in 2011, for the FMA Ladyfest at livejournal. I'm still quite fond of it!
> 
> The prompt was about Madame Christmas and/or the girls who work for her - I seized the chance to write more than a few OCs in, and also to write her place as a hostess club/bar and not a brothel (because seriously, fandom). Could alternatively be titled: Awesome girls being spies and bffs!

It’s not how Vanessa had pictured her life, but, somehow, it works for her.

It’s been three weeks now and every evening she buys fruit and vegetables before going back home, and she walks with a paper bag that smells of warmth and moisture under a sky the colour of which she had gotten unused to, but not forgotten.

Madeline is always back before her. She finds the windows wide open, trying to lure the nonexistent breeze  
in, and there’s food in the kitchen and the sound of running water in the bathroom. She leaves her keys on the table, along with her paper bag (it’s apricots today, and tomatoes). She’s home.

 

“…Yeah, that’s what Harriet said, but I don’t know what happened next, I couldn’t stay any longer. I’m going to try to learn, though, I’m really curious! Sorry, I can’t hear you… Yes, yes that’s right. I’m not sure, we’ll see. Nice talking to you, I’ll call you again soon.”

She smiles at her friend, who let her use the phone, while the only customers of the store – two men, in old vests and soft hats – exchange similar, condescending looks: “Women”.

She chirps goodbye and leaves. For someone (formally) unemployed, she really has got a lot of work to do.

She randomly meets Pasiphae later, outside a phone booth. They kiss on the cheeks and talk for a bit – small talk, that could even sound like gossip to someone. Vanessa chuckles at the though; that would be highly significant gossip.

They share information, in a way familiar to both, a system that wasn’t created by them but that has fitted on their manners like a glove. Later, they finally get to use female names that aren’t code, talk about things that are close and very real to them – “How’s Madeline?”, “Eh, you know”, “The opening won’t be any time soon, but there’s going to be something like a party”, “Yes, I was told!”, “Hope to see you soon, but we’ll see each other there anyway!”.

Pasiphae winks playfully and waves her hand, her dark hair shining under the bright sun as she walks away. Vanessa enters the phone booth; her life has been a constant exchange of information lately, just like it was before the spring.

 

The program for the newspaper is this: Monday, Tuesday, Vanessa buys it; Wednesday, Madeline, Thursday, Vanessa. Friday, Madeline. Saturday, Sunday, whoever’s in the mood.

They both read it, and they talk about it over dinner, or before they go to bed, or when one brushes her teeth in the bathroom in the morning and the other decides it’s time for philosophical-slash-political-slash-social conversation.

They read it both because they’re interested, and because it’s required for work. They try to verify rumours or information they’ve been given, and they try to read between the lines when necessary. They always make sure nothing has escaped them.

It’s probably something that has stuck with them with time and work, trying to always know, always be aware.

 

She passes by the Madame’s one morning. It’s June, the weather is hot, not as hot as it was in Creta, but hotter than any summer in Central that Vanessa remembers. She was never particularly annoyed by the heat, but this time it’s kind of getting on her nerves, and she feels uneasy and nervous, even slightly exposed.

She doesn’t expect it to melt away once she meets Madame Christmas, but strangely, it does. The coffee has a soothing effect on her, and remembering details, old everyday facts, recalling ordinary memories, helps. The Madame drinks her coffee strong, with a single sugar cube. There’s familiar music coming out of an old, large radio (it’s _their_ old, large radio), and they’re not in their old neighbourhood, but the one they’re in resembles it quite a lot. They talk, first about small things, used and known (gossip and news, Madeline’s new haircut and the puppy Roy tried to persuade the Madame to adopt), then about the past months, the time they were all apart. The Madame tells her about the other girls – Margo had fun in Xing, Irene visited very distant family in Drachma, she took Regina with her – before asking about Creta.

“Oh, it was lovely” – she speaks like she just got back from holidays. There are things that are difficult to change every other minute and her cheerful, maybe a little absent-minded tone is still there.

However there’s no-one listening but Madame Christmas and Vanessa tells her about Pasiphae’s parents’ home and the sea – “I thought it’d be like a really huge river, but it was something completely different!”. She was not one of the kids that were taught Cretan in school, but she’s much better educated that one would think, and after all, she did spent months in the same room with Pasiphae before she had to go to her parents for a visit of months (“Cretans were hilarious, they wanted you to be as comfortable as possible – or more – and to _eat_ as much as possible – or more”). The Madame smiles over her cup, but none of them is demonstrative enough with feelings to, say, hug or touch hands like mother and daughter (Vanessa giggles inwardly at the thought, it’s _this_ weird).

Still, her time in Creta wasn’t only about the grandiose, serious things like staying in a foreign country because your own is in danger, or knowing that something’s happening, but not knowing what exactly. The food was, indeed, kind of better than that in Amestris, and she visited monuments and ancient buildings like a regular tourist would do. She had been interested in architecture for a while, but THAT, she says, was incredible.

“How’s the boy?”, Vanessa asks after they have talked about their “vacation”, even though Roy is a good three years older than her.

“Eh, the usual. He gets by.”, the Madame replies, but her voice is full of pride.

“And Elizabeth?”

“Well, the same, I suppose.” The Madame smirks and they exchange a knowing, sly glance.

Vanessa leaves long after the noon. There’s not only news to share and funny gossip, there’s also a bar to be properly cleaned and furnished and decorated and _prepared_ (there was only the radio and a table with two chairs in the grand hall), and business talk to be done. She has new assignments, thing to be taken care of, and an invitation to something-like-a-party for the next month.

 

“Anna?”

“Yes?”

“It’s me.”

A surprised breath, a happy one after.

“Sis! _Hey!_ ”

A smile.

“Did you get my card?”

“Yeah, of course! What were you doing in _Creta?_ ”

“Um, you know. Work. Kind of. I was at a friend’s. It was nice!”

“Well, you could have informed your old wrinkly sister, at least.”

“You’re not wrinkly.”

“…I do have white hair, though.”

“You have one white tuft, and you have it since you were ten. Or nine.”

“Yeah, whatever. How are you?” Anticipation.

“I’m pretty well. Okay.”

“…”

“I’m okay. Just adapting back home. How’s work?”

“Good. It’s good! You know how it is, working late hours.”

“Mhm.”

“And of course there’s the managing, too. Tell the Madame when you see her, Annie is sympathizing now. My condolences.”

“Should I tell her you miss Central?”

“No. Because I don’t. But tell Madeline hi, I like her. Irene, too. She’s still working there, right?”

“Yes. Hey – how are _you_?”

A laugh.

“Me? I’m surprised you ask, I’m fine. My allergies are killing me and I’m not getting married anytime soon -”

“You don’t _want_ to get married.”

“ – but fine. I missed you, I haven’t seen you a while now.”

A soft breath.

“I miss you too, Ann. I’ll try to visit. Soon.”

“No you won’t. It’s my turn to visit. Hey, how was Creta? I’ve heard the food is great!”

“It was beautiful. And yes, it is really good. I swear, I put on at least three pounds. I swam, too! In the sea! The _ocean_! It was…scary. At first. But amazing! And I saw the ancient temples, that was amazing, too.”

A laugh again.

“I liked the card – was it of one of the temples? It looked wonderful, very sunny.”

“Uh-huh, it was, very hot, too, for a spring.”

A pause. A clank from the coin falling into the machine, a search in a purse.

“Oh, sorry, Annie – I don’t have any coins left. I’ll need to go in a bit.”

“It’s okay, call me when you can. I’ll come to Central sometime in August – I think I need vacation.”

“Central is _not_ a good place for vacation, but alright. Say hi to everyone from me!”

“I will. Vee? Take care.”

A sigh, a grin.

“Don’t worry, Madeline’s taking care of me. She’s good, I’ll be fine. You take care.”

An exasperated huff. “Yeah, yeah.” A soft pause. “See you soon.”

Toot-toot. Toot-toot. Vanessa hangs up, too. She still speaks like an eighteen year old, sometimes.

 

In the last days of June, Vanessa focuses on the task she and the Madame had spoken about. She is glad to have something more concrete to do, rather than just follow vague guidelines. It means the situation is shifting, everything going back in place.

Both she and Madeline talk with lots of people; friends who are clerks in public offices, acquaintances that work at military headquarters. Sometimes the conversations seem innocent, and the information they gather comes from a slip of the tongue, a hint, or something that didn’t seem worth the protection. Other times, it’s people they’ve worked with before. Then, it’s facts, plain and definite.

It’s certainly interesting being an informant, sometimes.

 

It’s July already when Colonel – no, Brigadier General now – Mustang visits them in Central. The girls know that the Madame had considered the idea of moving the bar to East City, but what can a woman do. Central is her ( _their_ ) city. They have connections in the whole of Amestris, however, their base, their roots, is there, it’s steady and certain, and they know the city better than the lines of their palm. So, they remain in Central.

Vanessa meets him in the park, and they take a long walk so she can familiarize him with everything he should know. It must be a funny view: a supposed Don Juan military man and one of his ladies, who speaks animatedly and unstoppably, probably about the latest, unimportant news of the city. The Brigadier General listens to her very carefully, nodding or posing questions here and there (everything she says is, in fact, very much _important_ ). After a while, he looks at his watch and he tells her he has to bid her goodbye.

“I need to meet someone in a bit”, he says.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow; she doesn’t remember him having a date with one of the others. When she grins slyly, he flushes and she’s sure who this “someone” he’s meeting is. When he drops her home, she shouts “Say Elizabeth hi from me!” and leaves, laughing uncontrollably.

 

They have to buy dresses at some point, Madeline reminds her. The party is _important_. Also, in one week. _Only one week_.

So, they do. They go out in the city a nice, not so hot Saturday morning and decide to make a trip out of it. They have coffee and sweets at the terrace of one of the best pastry shops and they visit a large, well ventilated and lighted bookshop, and they buy fresh cut coffee from a tiny coffee shop that has their favourite smell in the world. They get  
in the first formal wear shop they see, and in the next one, and the next one. They try on clothes they know will look utterly stupid orfunny and they comment on everything they see. Vanessa can see Madeline had missed that, had missed the city not only for all the eavesdropping and the watching they need to do (that’s where all the fun is, she says usually), but for the city itself, its streets and its light, and for being somewhere where not everything is entirely new. They both smile and laugh like little kids, and after they buy their dresses, they stop by a vendor to buy fresh lemonade and they drink it slowly, sitting by the fountain in the central square.

“I like this”, Madeline says, just for something to say. She is certain Vanessa knows that already.

“Yes, me too.”

“I was thinking yesterday – wouldn’t it be fun to grow old here? All of us. It’d be hilarious, we’d be a company of old well-dressed ladies and we’d go to the same places as now. By that time, we’ll have managed to actually try everything in every pastry shop. Every tart and every pastry and every kind of tea and every ice cream taste! Some days, I think that’s pretty much my greatest ambition.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, completely! I don’t particularly care about having kids, or being established as a something. I just want to be an old happy lady that still says dirty jokes with her equally old friends. That’d be fantastic.”

Vanessa thinks about it for a moment.

“It _would_ be pretty nice. But I think we could also open a coffee shop. Or a restaurant. But then again, not all of us can cook. We could move to the country and have a farm!”

Madeline glances at her.

“Are you kidding? We are all kids of the city! I’m not moving at the country, I’ll have to make you stay here with me if you decide to do that. The girls will help me, you know, it’ll be six versus one.”

“I don’t really want to be a farmer. I’d rather stay here and eat everything in our restaurant with you.”

“I’d rather stay here, too.”

Vanessa slides her arm over Madeline’s shoulders and they stay like that for a while.

“Now all we have to do is convince Regina to be the cook in the restaurant! It’ll fail without her!”, Madeline says and they burst out laughing.

 

Vanessa and Madeline arrive late, but they’re not the last ones. The rest of the girls fall on them to hug them shouting and Irene hands them two glasses as soon as they’re inside the door. The Madame’s lips curl behind her cigarette and Madeline waves her hand vividly at her before taking a sip of her drink.

The place isn’t ready yet. The walls are all painted in a neutral whitish colour, the chandelier looks like it has just been put into place and the only furniture are the bar counter, a long table and eight chairs that are probably here for the occasion. A large mirror is left on the floor, propped up on the wall, reflecting colourful pumps.

A head emerges from the kitchen door and Regina waves her gloved hand, laughing.

“You’re late!”

“It’s not like anything’s ready anyway!”, Madeline laughs, too.

Regina sticks out her tongue and gets back into her kitchen. Margo, who is wearing a green garment from Xing whose name Vanessa puzzles to remember, tidies their scarves and jackets (the night the weather becomes much cooler) on a chair.

“Come on, tell us! How was Creta?”

“Yes, yes!”

“You mean Pasiphae didn’t already tell you everything?”

“What are you talking about, Pasiphae actually is from there, she always says the same things!”

“Hey! Not true!”, Pasiphae yells.

The last time they were all together was months ago, but their pace is the same. Emily is the last one to arrive, as always. They finally find a station and from the radio that’s hidden behind the bar comes joyful, modern music. Pasiphae makes jokes in her strong Cretan accent and Regina leaves the sanctuary of her kitchen only when everything’s perfect. She has apparently prepared about a hundred dishes and everyone has something to say – “but you know I don’t eat dill!”, “Aww, there’s mushroom sauce? I LOVE it!”, “Who’s gonna eat all this food?!”. They all rash to help and one of them pulls the chair for the Madame, who has dug out her fancy crystal champagne glasses, even though she won’t admit either the fact that she saved them from the old place, or that she spent one and a half hours to find them again and clean them, only for tonight’s party.

There are things they say, and things that don’t need to be said. Their job, anyway, is that, to know everything that is necessary and they all know each other very well. They’ve lived through a lot together, and they go on for more.

“You know, I never expected to find this when I started working”, Madeline whispers to Vanessa and she nods smiling, knowing exactly what the other means. Everything is so familiar and so intimate, and their routine is that of a  
family. Next to her, Margo and Regina are discussing politics. The atmosphere is still tense and many people are uncertain about the happenings of the spring. There are still those who oppose the restoration of the Ishbarites and, on the other hand, Brigadier General Armstrong doesn’t seem to be working well enough with Grumman. “Personally, I don’t like either of them”, Irene comments calmly between two mouthfuls, before going back to her conversation with Madeline and Emily about Creta. Vanessa barges in, too, and enthusiastically continues Madeline’s sentence about the places they visited – Amestris has some lovely sights, too, but Creta’s architecture is definitely _amazing_!, she says, shaking her head. In the other end of the table, Pasiphae and the Madame burst into laughter at a gag.

Some time has passed, the music is nice and easy to listen too, its rhythm less fast, and all of them are a bit tipsy, when someone realizes that, hey! we didn’t propose a toast yet!, and seven heads turn to look impatiently at the Madame, who rises her eyebrows.

“We did say ‘to the new place!’ when we opened the first bottle, and to ‘the old place!’ on the sixth one”, she says indifferently.

“We want a speech!”, Regina hits the table with her fist and Irene claps her hands, laughing. Margo gets up and runs to get a bottle of champagne and Madeline follows her to bring the glasses.

The Madame looks as if she’s toying with the thought to pass the toast thing to someone else, or to complain that she’s bored of making sentimental speeches, and Emily looks at Vanessa, her lips curling. “I can make the toast!”, Madeline jokes, coming back with a tray loaded with glasses, and she receives fake hits from everywhere. The Madame rolls her eyes and smirks before taking the bottle Margo is offering.

She stands up, unwrapping the cover of the bottleneck and places her thumb on the opening beneath the cork. She makes a theatrical pause, looking at the flushed, eager faces. The cork flies to the ceiling with a bang and the champagne bubbles furiously as the girls hold their glasses close. Knives jingle on the crystal before Madame Christmas gestures at them.

“I would pretend that there is no need for a toast and for me to speak and everything, but there is no point in that. You have made me far too emotional and, besides, this is something significant. I would thank you for being here, but it’s not like you would miss it anyway. Now I will go on to the usual subtle hints, saying that I think company is pleasant during dinner, especially when the food is good” – clapping and a whistle for Regina – “Also, it is a known fact that a change of environment is good for people and, well, fashion is indeed particularly flattering this season. It is true that I had quite a good time while I was away, but it was lonely. And – no more hints – I’m glad to be back, and I’m glad to be here. Welcome to Madame Christmas’!”

They clap their hands and they laugh and they clink their glasses together. Vanessa catches first Madeline’s eyes, then Irene’s. Yeah, right. It’s not like we’ll ever stop the implications. It’s crystal-clear: “Welcome _home_!”

 

They don’t meet all together until a week later; it’s the last days of July and the streets are full of people dressed in their summer clothes, families with their children and snuggling couples and peddlers and gangs of young people. They are, too, a large company like all the rest,passing through the crowd, their dresses light and colourful, speaking and laughing loudly.

At the park they buy ice cream – the cones can hold only one scoop and Madeline buys two, one in each hand, vanilla and chocolate, and licks them in turns. They leave the rest of their coins in the hat in front of a street orchestra playing music down the road and they sit on a bench, while Margo shows Regina the steps of a dance whose rhythm fits the one of the song the orchestra’s playing. The sky is a bright blue, similar to the colour of Vanessa’s skirt.

They don’t talk politics, they talk about food and ice cream tastes, about a book and a new film, about the funfair in the other side of the park. Emily’s red lips have become white from her ice cream and Irene gives her her own handkerchief to wipe it off. Some of Pasiphae’s long hair get in her scoop and she licks the curl clean – “What?! Not one drop of ice cream should be wasted! Don’t you ever chew on your hair?” and the others laugh, rolling their eyes.

Finally they decide to head to the funfair and start to cross the park, stopping to feed the ducklings in the lake and to say hi to one or two acquaintances. Not very much away from their destination, they see a photographer, taking pictures for a few cenz.

“We should shoot one!” someone says, no-one’s sure who because they all had the same thought. Everyone shouts yes and one – probably Madeline – claps her hands. They wait, not so quietly, for the families in front of them to finish (a lady evening her son’s wild hair, a tall man tweaking his moustache, a little girl persuading her grandmother to come into the foreground) and, when their turn comes, they fix each other’s hair and check their faces for the last traces of ice cream.

“Good afternoon, my ladies”, the photographer greets them beckoning and all seven on them stand in front of the lens. Irene, the tallest, stands slightly in the back so they can all fit in, Margo pushes Emily a bit to the right, Madeline, between Vanessa and Regina, links her arms through theirs. Pasiphae puts her hand in the pockets of her skirt.

“Smile, please”, the photographer’s voice sounds from behind the curtain and all of them grin widely.

They take their photograph, pay and thank the man, who farewells them by touching the brim of his hat.

They walk to the funfair, which has the noise and the smell of a whole festival, looking at their picture, that has been agreed with one voice to be given to the Madame. Up and above, the afternoon sun shines, colouring everything in golden tones, changing the highlights of their hair and sending to the ground seven shadows, united.


End file.
